


Mr. December

by mad_martha



Series: Auror [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England's premier Seeker experiences full exposure ….</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. December

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes there are popular themes which turn up again and again across different fandoms. Well, the Calendar!fic is one of them. I can remember seeing at several in _The X Files_ fandom back in the day, and I'm sure I've seen a couple of others in Harry Potter. Anyway …. This was meant to be a humorous cookie about Harry getting his kit off for the cameras. There was just one problem - Harry didn't _want_ to get his kit off for the cameras. So I had to get Ron to persuade him.

"Harry!"

Harry sighed inwardly, pulling his locker door open. "Hullo, Oliver."

Harry Potter was probably the only member of the team who didn't treat Oliver Wood with the reverence the world seemed to think was his due as the Captain of the England Quidditch Squad. Harry wasn't quite sure why people seemed to think that was necessary anyway, as Oliver himself certainly didn't.

"Harry, what's this Julia's telling me?"

Harry sighed again, dragging his practice robes over his head and dropping them on the bench behind him. Julia Forthright was the publicity officer assigned by the Department of Magical Sports to the England team. As such she had a lot to do with every team in the national league and she had a particular bee in her bonnet about fostering 'good relations' between them. Personally, Harry thought this was doomed to failure as the whole point of the league was intense competition, which (in a violent game like Quidditch) generally precluded warm fuzzy feelings between the teams. He had to give her credit for trying, though, even though her latest initiative was something he definitely didn't want to be involved in.

"I don't know, Oliver," he lied, unlacing his wrist guards. "What's Julia saying to you?"

Oliver came to a halt barely a foot away - he had always been very into people's personal space, even at school - and folded his arms, frowning.

"She said you refused point-blank to be involved in the calendar shoot."

"That's right," Harry replied shortly. He wrestled with a tight knot and managed to pluck it undone. "It's a barmy idea, Oliver. You'll never get the Harpies to agree to it, for a start. And even if I was willing - which I'm not - Ron would go nuts. You know what he's like!"

"I don't see what his problem would be," Oliver retorted. "It's not like we're pimping you out to the highest bidder and - "

"Actually, in Ron's book it's probably pretty close to pimping," Harry interrupted sharply. He ripped the second wrist guard off and threw it into his kit pile, turning to face the captain. "What is Julia _thinking?_ A calendar full of nude Seekers!"

"Several of the league teams do something similar every Christmas!"

"With their clothes, or the _majority_ of their clothes, _on_ , Oliver!

"It's for St. Mungo's," Oliver pointed out.

"And believe me, I'm sympathetic to that. By why do we all have to be naked?"

"To raise the profile a bit higher than a run-of-the-mill calendar. Even you have to see that this'll make it a sell-out!"

Harry muttered something uncomplimentary about the Quidditch-supporting public.

"I'll talk to Weasley," Oliver decided. "I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill, myself. He's a reasonable bloke."

Harry wondered which Weasley Oliver was referring to, because it certainly wasn't Ron.

xXx

"Let me get this straight," Ron said in a deceptively amiable tone. "You want Harry to get his kit off for a calendar, along with a load of other Seekers from the league."

"Tasteful pictures only, Mr. Weasley," Ms. Forthright said quickly. "We're not suggesting anything - ah - full frontal. I'm sure you've seen similar calendars in the past …."

 _"Wand Boys?"_ Ron asked gently.

Harry hastily swallowed a laugh, but although her cheeks pinked slightly the publicist seemed unfazed by this mention of one of the most notorious calendars of the wizarding world.

"Nothing as prurient as that," she replied coolly.

"But you still want my partner to strip off in a room full of photographers and God knows who else, to have pictures taken that'll be slobbered over by witches and wizards from here to Beijing."

"For charity!" she protested.

"The people buying it won't be thinking much about sick children in St. Mungo's," Ron replied dryly. "Take my word on that."

"I don't know what your problem is, Weasley," Oliver put in at this point, and from the look on his face he really _didn't_ see what the problem was. "Harry's a good looking bloke - people are bound to be thinking what a lucky man you are."

Harry reflected that it was lucky it was Oliver talking. Ron was familiar with the England Captain's single-minded mania for the game and anything that would promote it, and wouldn't take such offence at a badly worded remark from him.

"'So let's show them' - is that what you're thinking?"

"Not at all," Ms. Forthright said hastily, alarmed by the very bland look Ron was giving them.

"You do realise that Harry and I have an exclusive relationship, don't you?" Ron continued. "Sometimes people think that because we're gay it means we're promiscuous. I wouldn't want you to be labouring under any misconceptions about that. Especially since a calendar like the one you're describing is pretty much guaranteed to give rise to misconceptions about Harry's availability. We don't need that. Enough of his fans think they're free to grope him while he's signing autograph albums already."

There was a pause. To do her justice, Ms. Forthright gave the problem serious consideration.

"How many of the other Seekers have agreed to this?" Harry asked quietly.

Oliver frowned, but Ms. Forthright said ruefully, "Most of them, but there are a few - well, Duncan Swifty of the Kenmere Kestrels has refused outright, but to be honest …."

"That's no loss," Ron finished for her, and to everyone's relief he chuckled. "Go on - who else?"

"Well … we have at least four who are holding out until they know if Mr. Potter will do it. Myfanwy Evans of the Harpies, for example, has said she'll only do it if the England Seeker sets an example. And Lottie Bloomer from the Cannons has said the same."

"They would," Harry said, but he was amused. The female Seekers of the league were almost more competitive than the men.

"We could …." Ms. Forthright paused, looking suddenly thoughtful. "Yes! That might actually be better on a charity calendar." She perked up visibly. "There's no reason why each picture shouldn't have a short biography of the player against it. Something talking about marital status, favourite pursuits - that sort of thing. We could make it clear that our players are clean-living, upright members of the community. How would that be?"

"It'd be a lie," Harry muttered, but he looked at Ron.

Ron took his time considering this. Finally he said, "If he does it - _if!_ \- I want to be there at the shoot. And I want every non-essential person out of the way, understood? I don't see why a bunch of pervs should get a free gander at his assets. They can buy the calendar like everyone else."

The relief on Ms. Forthright and Oliver Wood's faces was almost comical.

"I think we can agree to those terms," the publicist said.

xXx

All the same, it was one thing for Harry to say he'd do it. It was another for him to actually strip naked and pose for the camera, and as the day drew near he grew less and less inclined to discuss it. Which was unfortunate, because everyone else, with the exception of Ron, wanted to talk to him about it.

Opinions on the venture varied. Ron's mother, while inclined to disapprove of anything risqué on principle, nevertheless smiled fondly at Harry whenever it was mentioned. Hermione, on the other hand, disapproved strongly; she thought it was exploitative. Draco Malfoy remarked obscurely that the publicity wouldn't hurt Harry. Remus Lupin looked mildly amused and talked in measured terms about the extensive benefits to the charity outweighing any mild tastelessness attached to the calendar. And Sirius Black thought it was a tremendous hoot and egged Harry on shamelessly.

Harry and Ron both had very mixed feelings about it, but having had one in-depth discussion about it and agreed to go ahead, the subject was shelved and they got on with their everyday lives.

Harry wasn't at all keen on the idea of the photo-shoot, if the truth was told, but given the pressure upon him to do it - which was enormous - he resigned himself, simply grateful that Ron would be there to oversee matters and make sure that things didn't get out of hand.

And so the day dawned and Harry found himself in a waiting room with half the Seekers of the British League and their partners. (Apparently Ron's idea of chaperoning Harry had taken off - almost all of the others had brought a spouse or partner along for moral support.) He was kept waiting for most of the afternoon as one after another the others were taken off to a dressing room to undress and thence onwards to the studio.

Finally, Harry was ushered out to a discreet dressing room and given a big, fluffy bathrobe. He undressed with extreme reluctance; there wasn't room in the dressing room for two, so Ron was waiting outside, but why that made it worse he couldn't say. When he emerged, Ron took a good look at him.

"Got your contact lenses in?"

"Yes …." Harry hunched up inside the robe.

"Relax," Ron said calmly. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want to do this," Harry muttered.

"You'll be fine."

The studio was full of painfully bright wizard lights and, unnervingly, there was a bed right in the middle of them. Harry balked at the sight of it, but this only gave the hair stylist and make-up artist a chance to get at him. He endured their ministrations under protest, watching uneasily as the photographer and his assistant adjusted various equipment. The room seemed worryingly full of people, in spite of all the promises. The photographer, his assistant, the stylist and make-up artist, Ms. Forthright, Oliver Wood ….

The photographer, a middle-aged, no-nonsense type of man, wandered over. "Do you have any preferences for a pose, Mr. Potter? Standing, sitting, lying down, somewhere in between?"

He had to choose a pose?

"Um …." Harry looked frantically at Ron.

Ron considered. "Lying down," he decided. "On his stomach. Will that do?"

"Let's try it out …."

Harry looked at the bed. It was made up with nothing but white linens and the sheets looked jumbled up, as though someone else had been lying on it already.

"Not a bed," he managed in a strangled tone.

"No?" The photographer pondered for a moment, then waved his wand at it. The bed vanished and in its place was a broad rug of dense black fur patterned with large brown and yellow spots. It was scattered with matching cushions of various sizes.

"That's more like it," Ron agreed.

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered, but it was better than the bed he supposed.

The photographer rubbed his hands together briskly. "Let's get started, shall we? Everybody out please!"

It seemed to Harry that it took forever for everyone to leave. The photographer's assistant had to be quite forceful, and it wasn't until Ron pointedly backed him up that a scowling Oliver Wood was persuaded from the room.

Finally it was just the four of them.

"Right, Mr. Potter, if you'd like to just keep the robe on while we adjust the lighting …."

Harry stretched out across the fur rug, relieved that he didn't have to take the robe off just yet. Sorting out the lighting took a while, during which time he grew bored and consequently relaxed a bit.

"That's better," Ron said to him quietly, crouching at the edge of the rugs. "Take it easy, mate, this bloke's good. And I reckon he's seen enough bodies today that you're going to interest him about as much as the floor tiles would."

"That's something," Harry said with a sigh.

"He's going to toss his assistant out in a minute."

"Really?" That was a welcome surprise.

Ron gave him a crooked grin. "Let's put it this way - if he doesn't, I will."

But that didn't prove necessary. The photographer firmly ejected his protesting assistant from the room and returned to his cameras.

"If you'd like to take the robe off now, Mr. Potter, we'll get this over with." He glanced up from his view-finder and gave Harry a quick, rather distracted smile. "Just so you know the drill, I'll be taking up to fifty shots from different angles, although obviously only one of them will actually be used in the final calendar."

"What happens to the spare shots?" Ron asked sharply.

"They'll remain the property of my studio, but I can assure you that once the calendar is ready for issue I'll destroy any extraneous prints."

"And the negatives?"

"They go into a vault at Gringotts," the man replied, apparently unoffended by this ruthless questioning. "I shoot the pictures for _Wand Boys_ as well, Mr. Weasley, and you'd be surprised how determined to get hold of the originals some people on the black market are. We operate under the highest security - I can assure you that Mr. Potter's pictures will be safe."

Ron seemed satisfied by this, and curiously so was Harry. He'd had quite a few unpleasant run-ins with the press and photographers over the years; this was the first professional of his kind that Harry had come across and he was reluctantly impressed.

That didn't mean it was easy taking the robe off, though, and once Ron had taken it away Harry found himself trying to burrow into the thick fur beneath him as much as was physically possible. It didn't help at that it tickled in awkward places. And the photographer kept instructing him to change position.

"Look at the camera, Mr. Potter …smile please … a little more … try to look like you're enjoying yourself if you can … perhaps if you tilted your head to the left … how about holding one of those cushions …."

Harry hated every minute of it. Worse, he suspected his face was broadcasting that fact.

Finally, the photographer took a break and went into a low-voiced conference with Ron. Harry shifted unhappily on the tickling fur and tried without success to eavesdrop on their conversation. Then Ron came over to him, dropping into a crouch again at the edge of the rug.

"Look, mate, you've got to stop thinking about how much you don't want to be here," he said.

"That's a bit of a problem," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, I know, but … look, will you do me a favour and try something?"

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"I want you to forget you're lying here having your photo taken, and think about what we did last night."

Harry turned an instant, deep scarlet. "I can't do that!"

"And I want you to look at me while you're doing that," Ron continued doggedly, "because I'm going to be sitting over here in front of the camera, thinking about the same thing."

 _Oh hell_. That was … that was a _terrifyingly_ attractive idea. Harry swallowed hard and shifted against the fur nervously. Oh God. _Fur_. Why couldn't it have been a box of gravel or something? Anything to stop certain parts of him getting ideas at an inappropriate moment. Ron was taking a seat at the base of the camera tripod; when Harry looked at him, the redhead gave him a smile that he usually only saw two seconds before Ron spelled his underwear off.

"Um …." he began, and was dismayed to hear that single syllable come out in a deep, throaty tone.

"Just carry on, Mr. Potter," the photographer said, in an indifferent voice. "I've seen far more than two wizards sharing a fantasy, believe me. These days the only thing that gets _me_ going is a new telephoto lens."

This should have been rather dampening, but Harry found (to his perturbation) that it was ridiculously easy to get back into the fantasy. It occurred to him, as he dragged a cushion under his chin and locked eyes with Ron again, that if they weren't very careful, the photographer might find himself getting two naked wizards for the price of one.

It was bad enough being featured in Oliver Wood's Quidditch calendar; Harry didn't want to end up as this year's cover boy for _Wand Boys_ as well.

xXx

The editorial offices of the _Daily Prophet_ went suspiciously quiet on the day an advanced copy of the Quidditch League Charity Calendar was delivered. Sirius Black had to limit the number of people crowding around his desk as he flicked slowly through it with unconcealed appreciation, although he didn't bother to censure any of the sighs or groans from the audience.

Sirius was a firm believer in keeping his workforce happy. It was his opinion that this calendar would keep quite a few workforces happy.

"Sirius, if you're going to introduce Page 3 Girls into the _Prophet_ , I might have to disown you," an amused voice said.

Harry was standing just inside the doorway.

"I thought we were going to have lunch with Remus?" he said to his godfather, a little puzzled at the looks he was getting.

"No thanks," one of the typesetters quipped. "I'm full up!"

There was a chorus of titters. Sirius grinned and held up the calendar, open at December, for his godson to see.

"Care to autograph it for me, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"Oh God …." Harry said, but he sounded resigned as he took in the full glory of his naked self giving him a very come-hither look from the fur rug. "Well - it could have been worse, I suppose."

Apparently hearing this, calendar-Harry rolled languidly onto his back on the fur rug, just dragging one of the cushions over his lap in time, and smiled in an embarrassingly sultry way.

"He must have been a really good-looking photographer," Sirius teased.

"I wouldn't know," Harry retorted as blandly as he could manage. "I wasn't looking at the _photographer._ "

"Can we quote you on that?" one of the reporters asked eagerly.

"Talk to my agent!"

 _"England's Seeker has eyes for only one man,"_ Sirius quoted, his eyes dancing. _"'I never even saw the photographer!' says Harry Potter."_

"My former legal guardian," Harry said in a disappointed tone. "Like a father to me … and selling me down the river for vulgar profit."

"It's a tough business," his godfather agreed, with spurious sympathy. "Family are the first to be sacrificed."

xXx

Considering that it wasn't due to be released for another week, it was amazing how many people had seen an advance copy of the calendar.

"It's tasteless and exploitative," Remus Lupin said in a dignified tone, as he shook out his napkin in The Leaky Cauldron. "I've ordered ten. They'll make marvellous staff-room Christmas presents."

"I'll write a personalised message on Snape's copy, if you like," Harry offered, grinning reluctantly.

"Actually, I thought I might keep his copy in my office, so I can choose the right moment to give it to him. You know what he's like - the right moment could take a while to arrive."

"You're a pair of perverts," Harry told his father's friends severely.

"We're middle-aged, Harry," Sirius told him, grinning. "We're not _dead._ "

"If you try to tell me that Moody allows calendars like that in the Auror Facility, I'll call you a liar to your face," Harry told Ron later, over dinner.

Ron looked mildly disapproving. "I'm not buying a copy!"

Harry looked at him, surprised. "You're not?"

"Nope." The redhead continued to eat his meal calmly.

"Oh."

Harry told himself that he wasn't disappointed. That would be ridiculous. The calendar was a major embarrassment to him, after all; why would he want Ron to own a copy? That would be … hypocritical.

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched irrepressibly.

"I don't need a copy, you pillock," he said affectionately. "There's only one picture in it that would interest me, and I've got the original model right here. Haven't I?"


End file.
